


The Day After, and the Day After That

by out_there



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-26
Updated: 2008-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't--" Ianto pulls in a breath. He's breathing faster than he needs to and still staring at Jack's mouth. "I'm not the kind of guy that does this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After, and the Day After That

**Author's Note:**

> Written post-2.12 ("Fragments"), so it won't make sense unless you've seen that. Set pre-S1, though.
> 
> Meant to be a quick post-episode drabble, but at 2000 words, it over-shot the drabble mark.

Ianto turns up the next morning in the same suit but a different shirt and tie. "The suit still looks good," Jack says, letting him inside the outer office. There's a bench, cold concrete floors, plain brick walls and a shabby doorway leading to a smaller office, and then the emergency stairs. It's dust and dirt, and the areas been ignored since the late forties.

Jack should know.

Ianto keeps his head tilted down, bent just enough that his eyes don't meet Jack's. "Thank you, sir," he says coolly.

"You don't have to play the butler," Jack says, wondering if this is a joke.

"I know that, sir."

"So what's with the sirs?"

"It seems..." For the first time this morning, Ianto makes eye contact. Not like the first night Jack saw him: cocky and challenging. Not like the next day: confident and over-eager. This is something new, more like that split-second before he pushed himself off Jack last night and walked away as fast as he could. This is more like fear, like he's scared of… Torchwood, perhaps. Or Jack himself. "Appropriate. Sir."

"Appropriate if you're a butler," Jack needles and Ianto shifts his gaze, looks down at the counter and then around the room. Looks at anything but Jack.

"Appropriate when talking to your employer, _sir_."

***

Jack lets the matter drop, and shows him around Torchwood Three. Shows him Owen's medical bay, Tosh's computers, Suzie's workstation-slash-workshop and Jack's office. He takes Ianto on the full tour from the sublevels to the roof, pausing an extra moment at the coffee machine. Explains that Ianto will be what he offered to be: a general researcher and dogsbody for the team. He'll get food and clothes when necessary, he'll file and get coffee, he'll play receptionist on the phones and guard dog at the public entrance.

That was what Ianto had offered, so Jack was going to give him that. He didn't actually need another field agent right now, but in time… well, Ianto Jones was certainly persistent. He might be an asset.

While Jack explains, Ianto nods with an occasional "yes, sir" or "no, sir" and no more than that. But when they return to the outer office, he suggests, "It should be a tourist office."

"Like Cardiff doesn't have enough of those."

"It's a pretty spot," Ianto argues back, and there's a flash of yesterday's defiance. "You might get tourists."

Jack frowns at him. "I don't want tourists in my secret underground base."

"Then it's just as well Cardiff already has plenty of tourist offices." Ianto turns to look under the counter, but Jack spots him rolling his eyes as he does so. "It won't be busy, but it won't seem suspicious either. Isn't that the point?"

"Well, yeah," Jack says reluctantly. It's not like he can say anything else. Then he glances around the dirty walls; he's pretty sure these corners have collected enough dirt to form microcosms. "But the place would need a lot of cleaning before you could have people in here."

"The place would need a lot of cleaning regardless." Ianto sounds half horrified and half excited. It's a little strange, especially given the firm look he turns on Jack when he asks, "Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?"

There's not a lot that makes Jack stop to think, but that question does. "For cleaning up a murder scenes?"

"I was thinking cloths and Ajax," Ianto says slowly, like Jack's an idiot.

"I don't think--" Jack stops when he sees the prim, disapproving expression on Ianto's face. He digs a few notes out of his pocket. "Go buy some."

Ianto takes the cash, counts it and places it carefully in his wallet. "How do I get back in?"

"I've got a spare key to the front door here somewhere," Jack says, patting down pockets. It's the only downside to wearing this coat: the number of pockets to lose things inside. He eventually fishes a key out. "Keep it. If you need to get in and no-one else is here, you'll need it."

***

Ianto comes back with pizza for lunch -- "From the new place on the corner, Jubilee something," he says -- and spends the rest of the day cleaning upstairs. Jack considers interrupting, but flicks on the CCTV feed instead. He watches Ianto sweep the room out, then answers a few emails. He glances back to see Ianto spraying the counter, wiping it, rinsing the cloth and wiping again.

Jack checks in with Tosh -- a new gadget that she's trying to fix, even though she doesn't know what it is or what it's supposed to do -- and then the others. Suzie is typing up a report on the latest gun found and Owen's surfing the internet, supposedly searching for any mentions of the bright orange pig-looking alien they'd found dead last week.

When he gets back to his office, Jack checks the CCTV feed. Ianto is on his hands and knees, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing the floor. He's facing away from the camera, and it's really not a bad sight at all. Jack keeps the feed up while he returns calls from UNIT and Whitehall. It's the first time he's discussed quantifiable benefits to humanity with a smile on his face.

***

By five o'clock, the others have gone home and Jack goes down to the gun range to practice. It's hours later when he wanders back up -- grinning from the simple pleasure of pulling a trigger, feeling the kick-back, and watching cardboard get torn apart -- and notices the CCTV feed still showing on his monitor.

Ianto's still there. He's moved from the floors to the walls, scrubbing with a short bristled brush in tiny circles. Dipping the brush into the bucket of soapy water and moving to another little circle. Repeating again and again.

Brushing a hand along his chin, Jack wonders if he's bitten of more than he can chew. Specifically, he wonders if Ianto is more damaged than he'd realised, if he pushed to join Torchwood Three merely as a way to force Jack to wipe his mind of the memories. On the screen, Ianto washes out the brush and starts again.

When Jack gets up to the outer office, he hears himself ask, "The bricks are red?" He'd meant to say something leader-like and touching, something to connect to Ianto and work out if the problem was fixable, but he got distracted by the walls.

Ianto stops cleaning. "They do seem to be, once you get all the dirt off."

"I thought the bricks were brown," Jack says honestly. "I can't remember seeing them red since... No, even in 1923 when I spent a whole day handcuffed to that radiator -- don't ask -- the walls were brown. One day, and you've removed a century of dirt. I'm impressed."

Ianto doesn't smile, but he seems pleased. "Thank you, sir."

"But I don't want you keeping these type of hours here."

Frowning, Ianto looks at his watch. Then his eyes widen in surprise. "I hadn't noticed the time pass," he says sheepishly, wiping his hands on his trousers.

The reaction is telling, but reassuring. Ianto gets caught up in tasks, loses perspective; Jack can work around that. "You want a hand cleaning this all up?"

"I'll put it behind the counter," Ianto says slowly, looking around. The floor beneath them is still grey, but it's clean. The counter top is a rusty red, shiny enough that Jack can see the light above reflect on the surface. The wall behind the counter is red brick, as is half of the wall behind Jack. The rest of the walls are still a dark grey-brown colour, the colour of grime and pollution built over years. It really is an impressive change.

Jack picks up the bucket by the handle and carries it behind the counter (hopefully far enough back that Owen won't stumble into it or tip it over during his hung-over stagger into work). Ianto gathers the cloths and brush, and stacks them neatly on a shelf. Then he leans past Jack -- brushes past, really -- to pick up his jacket and Jack hooks an arm around his elbow. "What happened last night?"

Ianto has the same reaction: a moment of wide-eyed shock and then pulling back quickly. This time, Jack doesn't let go and Ianto stops, freezing into place. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Yeah, you do." Jack leans closer. Then he licks his lips and lets his nose touch Ianto's. "We were this close, and then you ran."

Ianto doesn't meet his gaze, but this time, it's because he's staring at Jack's lips. "I didn't--"

"You ran."

"I don't--" Ianto pulls in a breath. He's breathing faster than he needs to and still staring at Jack's mouth. "I'm not the kind of guy that does this."

Jack doesn't roll his eyes. He's had a century to become accustomed to ridiculous ideas of gender and sexuality; this is one of the better responses he's heard. "The type of guy that does what, exactly?"

Ianto swallows and doesn't seem to notice the way he sways a little closer to Jack, the way the distance between their mouths becomes a fraction less. "Shag the boss."

Jack laughs, gleefully surprised. "That's the problem?"

"Call it a personal principle," Ianto says, still so close.

"I'd rather call it an inconvenience. You couldn't have mentioned this the day before I hired you?" Jack stretches nearer, brushes his lips across Ianto's. Not a kiss, just contact but there's still a surprised hiss of air from young Mr Jones. "Say in the park, while you were wearing those sinfully tight jeans?"

"I can't do this," Ianto sounds strangled, voice low and rough.

"You could try," Jack says, and then kisses him. Under his hand, he can feel the muscles of Ianto's arm clench and tighten as Ianto kisses him back, sucking greedily at his tongue.

Then Ianto pulls back half a step, still close enough to touch but not close enough to kiss. "I can't do this and still be me."

Jack nods at him. "You can't do it, fine. But can you work here? Is this going to make things awkward?"

"No, sir," Ianto says quickly, all earnest determination. "It won't make things awkward."

"In an emergency, I need to be able to rely on you. If this effects how you react--"

"It won't," Ianto cuts in. "It won't effect how I do my job. It's just... an unexpected complication."

Jack holds his gaze for a long moment, looking for a sign that he's anything other than serious. "Then I'll see you tomorrow, Ianto Jones."

"Goodnight, sir."

Jack watches Ianto walk out and then uses the CCTV to watch for an extra moment. He sees Ianto pause on the street, raising a hand to his mouth, fingers brushing over his lips. He stares down at the road, looking thoughtful.

For a moment, Jack hopes he'll change his mind and return to the Hub. But after a deep sigh, Ianto seems to decide something and starts moving to his car.

***

The day after that, Ianto shows up in a different ensemble -- pinstripe suit this time -- and lets himself in with his key. Jack finds him at the coffee machine, wiping a cloth slowly over the metal until it gleams, smiling like he's polishing a sports car. Jack can remember cleaning the console of his first Hzarien flyer with the same worshipping care; there are some things about the human race that stay the same for millennia.

Ianto flicks the cloth and hangs it up, then starts the machine as Jack saunters over. When Jack gets there, Ianto has a hot cup of coffee waiting for him. "Coffee, sir?"

Jack takes it, fingers lingering on Ianto's hand for only a second longer than necessary, and drinks. It's good: wars have been fought over things far less divine. "You're a godsend, Ianto Jones."

"I don't think so," Ianto replies thoughtfully. "My mum used to say I had the devil's own luck."

"A bit of an angel, a bit of a devil?" Jack waggles his eyebrows. "That's my favourite combination."

Ianto smiles back at him -- a small, constrained smile, but one that seems genuine -- and then hands him a stack of opened letters. "I stopped by the post office on my way in. These are for you, sir."


End file.
